Look Down
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: Jyn Erso's belief in hope and goodness in the galaxy is hanging by a thread when she travels to Imperial Center trying to find out what happened to her father. The thread snaps when she meets an ex-officer of the Imperial Navy, a man named Solo.
1. Look Down

A/N: I saw "Rogue One" for the second time this week, and I was struck, again, by Jyn's attitude toward the Empire's oppression. I thought the "It's not a problem if you don't look up" line was one of the saddest in the movie, and I wondered, when did she start believing that? So naturally, I thought I should work it into a fan-fic. There's a nod to the old EU in here; I just can't let it go. Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

 **" _You can stand to see the Imperial flag reign across the galaxy?"_**

 ** _Jyn shrugged. "It's not a problem if you don't look up."_**

* * *

Look Down

 _Even when you are facing an adversary, Jyn, always look up. Always look someone in the eye. Show them you can't be cowed._

She remembered Galen's advice, could hear the words as clearly as the day he'd spoken them. It was something she took to heart. She had never been cowed, never showed panic or cowardice in the face of trouble. She'd never allowed herself to be broken.

But she seldom looked up; there was nothing there for her anymore. When she was young, she used to gaze up at the sky, terrified that Imperial ships would appear, would take her parents from her. Then after that happened, she would stare at the stars, imagining that, at any moment, her papa might come back to save her.

He never did.

She stopped looking up because she realized she had nothing to either hope or fear. She _had_ nothing and no one—not even Saw. She was eighteen now, an adult orphan, a vagrant, a criminal. She found it easier to run if you didn't have your head in the clouds, easier to survive if you were grounded by the weight of your footfalls. If you shuffled along, head down like everyone else, well, you might just make it.

It didn't pay to get involved. She'd gotten involved with Saw and his rebels, had believed in the cause, and what had that gotten her? Abandoned, that's what. But that didn't matter now. She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm fine on my own," she mumbled to a forkful of noodles. The meal was the first substantial one she'd had in days, and she didn't feel guilty about having pickpocketed the credits she'd used to buy it. Still, she left a generous tip on the table as she rose to leave. Might as well help some other being live to struggle through another day.

The afternoon sun was unseasonably warm on Imperial Center, but Jyn kept her head covered. She'd taken a huge risk coming here—she knew that—but when she'd heard that the Imperial science officers would be convening for a symposium with the Emperor, she had allowed herself to hope for the most insignificant mention, the barest glimpse of her father.

 _Foolish_. Jyn chided herself now, but didn't dwell on the feeling for long. _Keep moving forward_.

Forward took her by the Imperial Hall of Heroes, a portion of which was under construction. She stopped for a moment, gazing at the site from across the street.

She'd been passing by yesterday when something—she never knew what—compelled her to look over. The scene she saw was something she'd never forget.

 _The Imperials were using enslaved Wookiees to do the construction. Jyn hated slavery—which was pointless, since there was nothing she could do about it—and she hated watching any creature die at the hands of another. She'd seen that too often. A ranking officer, a captain, was beating a Wookiee, using a force whip to pierce his flesh, and even above the city's traffic and noise, she could hear the Wookiee's enraged howl. It stirred her; she recognized the sound as the same one her heart made the day she'd watched Krennic shoot her mother._

 _A junior officer looked on and Jyn resented him for not_ _ **doing something**_ _when, suddenly, he did._

 _Jyn had to cover her mouth to stifle a shocked cry. She looked around frantically; was no one else_ _ **seeing**_ _this? No, she realized. They weren't; they had their heads down, moving along, pretending everything was okay. Nothing to see here._

 _Jyn was the only one who saw the junior officer move. The Wookiee turned his strength and rage on the captain and the captain drew his blaster and aimed at the alien—and missed because the junior officer had barreled into him, knocking him down. The young man himself was no doubt in a state of shock over what he'd done. The Wookiee managed to disappear in the confusion._

She blinked, clearing the memory, but she wondered about the junior officer and the Wookiee. Had the Wookiee been recaptured? Had the junior officer been dismissed from service, or, worse, shot for treason? He'd no doubt been dealt with by now. Jyn shook her head. _What an idiot_ , she thought. He should have never gotten involved. (But a part of her would have been disheartened if not a single soul had intervened for the Wookiee. There were moments when she still liked to believe in human goodness.)

"May the Force be with you," she said later that day, lifting a shot glass on behalf of that brave, stupid man. She threw her head back and downed the dark liquid without so much as wincing as it burned its way down. She didn't turn as someone sat next to her at the crowded bar. "Another, please," she called to the bartender.

"And an Alderaanian ale for me," a thick voice slurred from beside her. She turned to regard him, if for no other reason than to see what kind of being was already drunk at this hour of the day. She gasped in spite of herself.

"Sith!" She swore incredulously. "It's _you_!"

"'M sorry, have we met?" He focused his bloodshot eyes on her face, squinting, and she could tell it took an enormous effort for him to do so.

"No," she said quickly, recovering her wits. "I recognize you from the Hall of Heroes. I saw what you did yesterday."

His eyes narrowed. "What I did," he sneered. He lifted his glass of ale and gulped down half. Jyn just stared, her own drink forgotten.

"You're not at all what I expected," she said bluntly. She didn't know _what_ she had expected the man to be like, but it definitely wasn't this drunken, disheveled mess. (Her heart of hearts was remembering something Papa had said long ago: _It takes a good and noble person to sacrifice himself for a stranger_. At the moment, this man looked neither good nor noble.)

" _I'm_ not at all what I expected, sweetheart," he shot back angrily, face coloring. "Yesterday when I woke up, I was Lieutenant Solo, a man with a future. Now I'm nothing, and I have nothing." He finished his drink, ordered another before he said, "But I'll be damned if I ever watch another human being treat an alien that way again."

The simmering anger in his eyes told Jyn that this man, Solo, hadn't acted in a single moment of compassion. No, something had started stirring within him long ago. She found herself wanting to know more about him.

"Well, I see you weren't shot to death by a firing squad. What happened?"

He shook his head, looking sideways at her. "They want to make sure you know you're not worth the blaster bullets it would take to kill you." He paused. "I was drummed out, stripped of rank, insignia, and honors."

"Oh."

He shook his head again, thinking about much more than just the end of his career. "It was bound to happen sometime."

"What's that?"

"I wouldn't have lasted long. There was too much screwed up stuff. People are going to start realizing, you know," he said with sudden fervor. But the flame extinguished as quickly as it had ignited, and Jyn saw him sink even deeper into his misery. "Doesn't pay to stick your neck out, kid."

His jaw was hard-set as he slapped a few credits on the counter and stood to leave. Bitterness made him look older than he was; he was probably only six or seven years older than Jyn. He was tall, handsome, and jaded—just the type she usually found herself attracted to. But she only felt profound disappointment when she looked at him.

For reasons she couldn't explain, she followed him out of the bar, scampering to match his long stride. "So that's it?" She questioned incredulously, half-shouting, incensed. "You know there's something wrong and you're not going to do anything about it?"

He stopped suddenly and turned around. Jyn nearly ran into his chest.

"And what are _you_ doing about it, sister?" His eyes were menacing. "You're a nobody just like me—look at you." He raked his eyes up and down contemptuously, from head to foot. She took a step back. He saw the hurt hidden deep in her eyes, but he was too drunk to care. "Nobodies can't afford to do anything about it." He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.

Inexplicably, Jyn's eyes were stinging. "You've seen what they are!" She yelled at his retreating back. "And you're okay with watching the Empire devour the galaxy and lay waste to its people?"

"Nothing says I have to watch!" He barked over his shoulder. "Shouldn't be a problem if I don't look up."

She watched Solo disappear into the crowded street before turning the opposite direction herself. Only out of instinct was she able to move. She felt gutted. She noticed wetness on her cheeks and angrily swiped it away. She covered her head with her scarf and moved through the throngs of beings, blending in.

 _Don't stick out, don't stop, don't let anyone see you._

She'd come to Imperial Center clinging to one last shred of hope, and that had been a fool's errand. And then she'd witnessed an incredible act, had seen someone do something so selfless that she had almost started to believe in the greater good again. But she realized Solo was right: nobodies don't have the luxury of doing something about the Empire.

Jyn wanted to leave Imperial Center as soon as she could steal or grift her way into affording the passage. The city-planet made her feel small, and she'd had quite enough of that. Standing in the street, she could feel the weight of Imperial rule, how it stifled her, had taken everything from her. She was a nobody—she knew that now, and she couldn't do anything about it, but she didn't have to have it thrown in her face.

So she did all she knew how to do; she put her head down.

Years passed before Jyn Erso was willing to look up again.


	2. Looking Up

A/N: Surprise! I kept going with this fic. Many, many thanks to the fabulous Baroness Emma for beta-ing this piece! She gave me some awesome ideas and challenged me to do things differently. For real, she was like magic. That's why I love the fan-fic community—we help each other grow! Anyway, hope you enjoy this! Drop a review and let me know what you think.

* * *

Looking Up

Ten years' experience and the restless shifting of Han's eyes told Chewbacca it was only a matter of time—minutes, really, at this point—until Han would make up his mind to stay and fight with the Rebels.

He would have died before admitting so, but Han Solo was a conscientious and principled man—in his own way—and having both seen the lifeless ruins of Alderaan floating through space, and been trapped aboard the station responsible, Chewie knew Han could barely reconcile the enormous numbers of lives lost with the fact that he had once served the same Empire that had caused such destruction. As Han slowly, almost reluctantly, cleared space in the cargo hold for their payment, Chewie could feel the tension in the air. He wasn't sure if Han was unwilling or unable to articulate what was going on in his head, but Chewie knew that no matter if they left, if they stayed, if they lived, or if they died, a good portion of his friend's mind and heart would stay here on Yavin IV with their new friends and the cause they represented.

For his part, Chewbacca had always been interested in the Rebellion; he had seen the Old Republic spiral into chaos, had witnessed the Jedi Purge at the end of the Clone Wars, had experienced the Empire's systematic decimation of his home and the enslavement of his people. His hatred of the Empire was deeply rooted, and it was just. Add that to his slightly grudging, albeit steadily growing, fondness for a certain wet-behind-the-ears farm boy and an intrepid princess, and he was more than eager to join "the cause." If he thought physically forcing Han to stay with the Alliance would yield any kind of result, he would have tried years ago. As it was, he knew things usually worked out to be much more pleasant when Han was under the impression he was in charge.

The Alliance had been generous in their reward for Princess Leia's rescue; now Han was anxious to get back to Tatooine and pay off Jabba the Hutt. His turmoil and indecision was understandable, Chewie supposed, but as he initiated pre-flight checks, he could hear Han curse and mutter in the cargo hold, no doubt struggling to remind himself of all the reasons why he preferred a life of smuggling to a life of political insurgency. Chewie could practically smell Han's burdened conscience.

[We could always wire the money to Jabba and stay here for a few weeks while we find work.] Chewie said.

"Don't be stupid!" Han sounded aghast. "You know Jabba only takes payments in cash."

[So we go pay off Jabba and then come back to the Alliance. What's the problem?]

More banging and cursing from the hold. Silence followed and Chewie counted Han's footsteps. In this agitated state, it would only take him fifteen paces to reach the cockpit.

Chewie didn't turn around when Han appeared behind him, hovering.

"The problem is that—I mean— _kriff_ , look at what they're trying to do!"

[Restore freedom for future generations? What a terrible thing. How dare they.]Chewie swiveled in the co-pilot's seat and faced Han with as caustic a look as he could muster. He knew the Corellian was about to crumble. Just a few more subtle nudges in the right direction…

Han stalked out of the cockpit as suddenly as he'd stalked in. Chewie didn't bother turning to the console. He knew Han would be back. Patiently, the Wookiee counted his companion's footfalls again: fifteen paces back to the hold, a forty-five second pause, fifteen more paces back to the cockpit. Right on schedule.

"You know," he started, waving a wrench in his hand, "I could see fighting a few battles, maybe, _maybe_ helping gather intelligence, but _this_ , going up against the fracking Death Star-"

[Is the only way they'll ever have a chance of defeating the Empire. You know it, and I know it.]

Chewie pinned Han to the wall with a convicting gaze. Han rubbed the back of his neck, but made no reply except to grunt and incline his head toward the cockpit window. Somebody had just pulled up with their reward money. Han turned and walked off the ship without his customary cocksure step. Chewie followed.

Han set to work immediately, but Chewie stood by in pointed protest. He saw Luke saunter in and head towards them, decked out in flight gear, an aura of feverish excitement. Han turned around and threw Chewie a baleful glance, gritting his teeth and steeling himself for Luke's onslaught of infectious optimism.

[Luke's in a good mood; maybe you can get him to help you with the reward money.] Chewie suggested in a honeyed voice.

Han's elbow found the Wookiee's ribs. "I don't appreciate your tone," he ground out irritably. He plastered a smile on his face as the kid approached them and offered a gruff but kind, "Hey, kid."

As the two started talking, Chewie enjoyed Han's obvious discomfort. He enjoyed it immensely.

"Attacking that battle station isn't my idea of courage—it's more like suicide," Han insisted to Luke (and to himself, Chewie knew) as the kid implored one last time for the duo to stay. He busied himself with the boxes of reward money. Chewie noted with satisfaction that Han hefted each one as if it tugged directly on his conscience, but Luke didn't know him well enough to sense the conflict. The kid's face clouded, color and ire rising.

"Yeah…well, take care of yourself, Han." Luke turned sharply on his heel. "But I guess that's what you're best at, isn't it?" His voice was a mixture of acid and disappointment, which probably came as a slap in the face to the Corellian.

Chewie watched in mild surprise as Han drew himself up and called earnestly, "Hey Luke…may the Force be with you." The younger man gave a curt nod of acknowledgment before turning away. Luke's hurt, disappointment, and derision was clear: _I thought better of you; you know better_ was the pervading message. Han swallowed hard. He could feel Chewie's eyes boring into the back of his skull, and it nettled him.

Good.

"What are you looking at?" Han snapped. He re-focused on the task at hand, getting his reward money ready to go, but Chewie could tell he took no pleasure in it. "I know what I'm doing."

[You always do.]

This aggravated Han all the more. "I'm gonna go see about getting clearance codes for takeoff." He growled. "I wanna be out of here in ten minutes tops."

He stalked off, not waiting for a reply. He was in such a furor that he got turned around in the massive tunnel system two or three times, glowering so fiercely that even in the midst of frenzied preparation for the upcoming strike, people were giving him a wide berth. Chewie followed him, half a pace behind. Forget the reward; he wanted to be there to see Han face Princess Leia. What she lacked in stature she made up with stubbornness and temper; more than a perfect match for him. If anyone could turn Han around, she could.

[You could stay for the Princess.] Chewie wheedled.

"Have you lost your mind?" Han spun around, nearly colliding with Chewie's massive self. "She's bossy, overbearing-"

[Attractive-]

"I'd kill her."

[The Empire is likely to kill her anyway.]

Han snarled, turning on his heel. A look of guilt flashed in his eyes. _Now_ they were getting somewhere.

Chewbacca followed persistently. [What about Luke?]

"The kid?"

Chewie rolled his eyes and bit back a sarcastic reply. How many other Lukes did they know? [He reminds you of her, doesn't she?]

"Who, Leia?" He slowed, but didn't turn to look Chewie in the eye.

[No.]

"Then who?"

[That girl, the one you met in a bar on Imperial Center. The one you humiliated and-]

Han stopped at that, turning and glaring.

Chewie shrugged. [Your words, not mine. You told me all about it, remember? That's why you've got a soft spot for Luke. You feel guilty.]

Han's hands twitched at his sides. "I was drunk back then. I regret that."

[You'll regret this, too.]

Han turned away again, muttering what sounded suspiciously like _You're not wrong._ Chewie wisely didn't press the issue. All he had to do now was bide his time; he had Han right where he wanted him.

They rounded the corner into the command center at a furious pace, and suddenly stopped short. Han stood several paces in front of him, eyes locked on Princess Leia. She stood at a data console, arms braced against it, head hanging down. Chewie noticed how worn she looked, how loose strands of hair fell around her face, how a haunted expression lingered deep in her eyes. There was nothing now of the mouthy girl they'd encountered on the Death Star. Chewie noticed also how Han's demeanor suddenly changed at the sight of her. Something in the man's posture softened. He stepped forward. Chewie leaned against the doorway, watching. He angled himself so that he could see both their faces.

He heard her murmur to General Dodonna, "How many casualties were there at Scarif?"

Dodonna touched something on a data pad, and holograms leapt into the air in front of them, displaying numbers and images. "Too many," he answered grimly. "Preliminary figures place our losses around a hundred and fifty between ground fighters and ships lost."

Leia's mouth compressed into a thin line and her eyes shimmered as with unshed tears. "I knew the Death Star plans came to me at great cost," she said, "but…"

"They were volunteers, all of them," Dodonna said gruffly. He touched something on the data pad again, and a different set of images popped up, all of them personnel photos. "This is the first team that went." He stopped, almost smiling. "Stole a ship and flew out of the base like krayts out of hell after the council decided not to strike against the Empire. Called themselves 'Rogue One.'" He tapped two pictures, and they expanded. Han's jaw fell slack and he moved into the room. Leia's eyes only briefly flicked to his face, but she didn't move, focusing intently on the holograms. The faces of a man and woman hung in mid-air and the general continued. "They were led by Captain Andor and Jyn Erso."

"We need to honor them, all of them," Leia said fervently to Dodonna, "If we live through the day, we'll have them to thank." She turned to Han, voice cool, not missing a beat. "What do you want? We're a little busy." She motioned with an outstretched arm to another data station nearby where technicians were monitoring the proximity of the Death Star. Her voice was rigid, but tired. He ignored her, transfixed by the image of Jyn Erso.

"She was with the Rebellion?" He asked of no one in particular, staring at the hologram with an unreadable expression. Unreadable to all but Chewie. That was her. The girl from the bar. It had to be; Chewie knew what all Han's ex-girlfriends looked like, and this girl wasn't one of them.

Dodonna answered without hesitation. "Yes."

Han rubbed his jaw, an anxious habit. "And she's…?"

"Dead," Leia supplied flatly, crossing her arms. "A friend of yours?" She quipped, regarding him with irritation.

"Dead," he repeated, stunned. He inhaled slowly. "Huh. Looks like someone I met once, few years back. Fire in the eyes." He glanced at Leia with a half-smile. "Hard to forget." The smile faded. "She was itching to join the Rebellion, I think, was looking for some kind of sign…'s'a long story."

Leia blushed slightly at the veiled compliment even as her eyebrows pulled together. _And you? What are you looking for?_ The unspoken question hung between them. After a moment, she lifted her chin and spoke softly, handing him a data chip containing the clearance codes. "You may go now, Captain Solo."

It was difficult to say whether Chewie or Leia was more surprised when Han didn't move. Chewie held his breath, waiting for Han to capitulate.

Leia was apparently waiting for the same. She squared her shoulders and looked the Corellian straight in the eye. "Do you want to stay, Captain?"

Han returned to his default smirk. "I might possibly be persuaded to. . . "

Leia's fists clenched and her jaw tightened. "Even in the face of certain death?"

For the first time in a decade, Chewie found the expression on Han's face to be indecipherable, emotions warring with each other. Solo took a slight step back. "Well. . . see you later, Princess."

Her eyes hardened. "Sure."1

Han beat a hasty retreat from the command center, not meeting Chewie's gaze as he passed. Chewbacca lingered, catching Leia's eye. She smiled half-heartedly.

"You have your hands full with that one," she remarked wryly.

He laughed, but sobered quickly. [You bring great honor to the Old Republic by doing this.] He meant it from the bottom of his heart.

Threepio translated and Leia smiled again. "I hope so." She placed a hand on his massive forearm. "Thank you."

He nodded his respect and turned to leave. Nothing else needed to be said.

Chewie hurried back to the _Falcon._ Time was short, and whatever he and Han were going to do, they needed to do it quickly. By the time Chewie walked up the ramp, the ship's engine was warm and ready. Han was in the cockpit flipping switches and checking displays, readying the craft to go into orbit.

"Took you long enough," he growled.

Chewbacca let the comment pass, strapping into his seat. [I hope you realize there's a high probability that the entire Rebellion will be blown to smithereens in the next half hour.]

Han's only response was to nudge the ship's controls and gently guide the _Falcon_ out of the hangar.

[So that girl Jyn was the one you met on Imperial Center? She's the one who stole the Death Star plans?]

The questions were purely rhetorical, intended to shamelessly goad Han into action. Han maintained a pointed silence. He pulled the ship through the layers of Yavin IV's atmosphere. The Death Star was already beginning to cast a shadow over the planet's surface and Yavin Prime loomed ahead. They broke through a thick layer of clouds and Han breathed a sigh of relief.

"Always easier to fly a ship when you can keep your eyes on empty space," he muttered.

[Easier to run, you mean. If we can pay off Jabba, we don't have to run anymore.]

Han grunted. The atmosphere thinned and sunlight faded as they crept closer to the cold vacuum of space. All at once, they were at the edge of the planet's orbit. Han's hand hovered over the hyperspace control. Hovered, and stayed there.

[Well?] Chewbacca prompted after several seconds passed and Han still hadn't taken them to light-speed.

Han slammed his fist down on the control panel, letting loose a string of expletives in half a dozen languages as he unstrapped himself and jolted to his feet. "Turn this heap around," he snapped. He looked Chewbacca in the eye, sucking in a deep breath through clenched teeth. "We're gonna go help Luke with that strike on the kriffing Death Star and you're gonna have to deal with it."

Two strides took him out of the cockpit and down the corridor toward the laser turret. "And you can wipe that smug little look off your hairy Wookiee face!" He yelled nastily, intuitively knowing Chewie had expected this all along.

Chewbacca, unoffended, took control of the ship, turning the Falcon on its nose and executing a sharp corkscrew maneuver to bring the ship into battle. Already, he could see green bolts of laser fire and fiery explosions along the Death Star's surface. TIE fighters swarmed like gnats on top of the Alliance ships.

[I hope we're not too late to help Luke.] Chewie said anxiously into his headset, maneuvering the _Falcon_ closer to the melee. His fingers flew deftly over the controls and comms array.

Han swore again. "Won't matter whether we're there late or not; we're not gonna have a clue what's going on down there 'cause we don't have the battle encryption freq- _wait a minute!_ How'd you patch us in?" He demanded, suddenly aware that he could hear all radio chatter clearly. "That's a restricted channel! What'd you do?"

[Quiet!] He snapped impatiently, straining to listen to the incoming chatter. To most listeners, the X-Wing pilots' transmissions sounded almost exactly the same, one voice indistinguishable from another. Chewie wasn't most listeners. His sensitive Wookiee hearing could pick up just enough variance in the voices…

[Luke's down there! He's alright!]

"Of course he is!" Han shot back. "What's his callsign?"

[Red Five. Locking on now.] Chewie adjusted the ship's sensors to stay sharply attuned to Luke's X-Wing. The young pilot was deep in the Death Star's trenches now, making his final approach to the exhaust port. Three TIEs trailed behind. Chewie coaxed even more speed from the _Falcon_ and it screamed closer to the battle.

"Get us over that ship!" Han yelled suddenly. "Luke's in trouble-I see smoke!"

Chewie was already pushing the _Falcon_ that way. They were over the trenches now, gaining on the cluster of TIE fighters threatening Luke's craft. Chewie knew that even now, Han was smirking as he held his finger over the cannon's trigger, waiting for the precise moment he needed to fire. If he could disable just one TIE into a spin, it would be enough to disorient the others. At this range and velocity, it was the kind of crazy, desperate, against-all-odds shot that only Han Solo could make.

[Do it!]

"This is for you, kid." Han muttered into the comm. Even in the heat of the moment, there was a wistful edge to his voice.

 _Is he thinking about Luke or Jyn?_ Chewie wondered as he tensed and held his breath. They _needed_ this shot to line up. The ship lurched; the laser cannon sent a brilliant, red bolt screaming toward right-hand TIE fighter, vaporizing it instantly. It was the shot that made the difference between Luke getting blown to dust and Luke successfully targeting that one tiny hole in the Death Star's armor, but it was also the shot that cemented Han's alliance with the Rebellion.

Chewie was already shifting to the co-pilot's seat when Han ran into the cockpit just in time to strap himself in and see Luke take his shot as a TIE went spinning into space. He whooped ecstatically.

"You're all clear, kid!" He shouted into the comm unit. "Now let's blow this thing and go home!"

The _Falcon_ whipped around and Chewbacca kept his head on a swivel, looking out of the domed cockpit as far back as he could. Luke's X-Wing was just behind them, the Death Star ominously close to Yavin IV…

There was a blinding flash, a silent explosion, and the battle station was gone. Both ships surged forward, carried by the shockwave. Chewbacca roared in exultation. For the first time in twenty years, he believed that Kashyyyk would someday be free. He looked to Han and found the man sitting suddenly still and silent as he flew the ship. His face was frozen in a mask of euphoria and disbelief and something that Chewie couldn't quite identify.

" _Kriff_. I've never seen anything like that."

[And to think you didn't want to get involved.] He quipped lightly, teasing.

Han just shook his head, still dazed. "I think the kid was right all along."

Chewie didn't ask what that meant; he didn't need to. He could see a weight had been lifted from Han's shoulders, a burden of guilt that had been there for too long. They remained quiet, each of them reflecting briefly on the magnitude of the victory as the ship re-entered Yavin IV's atmosphere. Chewie was the first to break the silence, coming as close to a sing-song voice as a Wookiee ever could.

[I bet we'll never be in a battle like that again!]

"Hey, that reminds me," Han retorted sourly as they waited for clearance to land. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You forgot to mention how you got us patched into the battle freq."

[Oh, that.] Chewbacca shrugged. [I got R2-D2 to give me the codes.]

"When?" Han demanded, color rising.

[Right after the mission briefing.]

They were on the ground now, but Han didn't move from his seat. He just glowered. "After the-you smug little-you knew I'd change my mind!" He was half-shouting, but a grin was slowly spreading across his face.

[You can thank me later. Let's go; Luke's landing in the hangar now.]

Han jogged down the landing ramp ahead of him, a certain spring in his step that Chewie hadn't seen in years. Chewbacca himself felt lighter and younger. After being in the thick of a battle when the Republic fell, he felt vindicated in being part of the Alliance's first victory against the Empire. The dark shadows were receding. He could feel it.

For the first time in decades, things were looking up.


End file.
